he said to Clements over a country breakfast of sausages and eggs and bacon, toast, honey and coffee. “Did you learn anything?” “A few things. Nothing to do with the case, though.” Malone refrained from asking if what he had learned had come from Mrs. Potter. “Well, we’ll get down to work this morning. We’ll go out to the gin. Get what background you can out of the workers, those in the fields as well as the gin.” He looked up as the waitress came to offer them more coffee. “We’ll be in for lunch, say one o’clock. Can you keep us this table?” “I’m afraid it’s taken for lunch.” She was a stout cheerful woman who liked her job; she gave better service than many of the more highly trained waiters and waitresses Malone had met in Sydney. “Gus Dircks is in town. He’s the Police Minister, but then you’d know that, wouldn’t you?” “We’d heard a rumour.” She laughed, her bosom shaking like a water-bed in an earth tremor. “Yeah, you would of. Anyhow, when he’s in town he comes in here every day for lunch.
